


All Red Dress with the Devil Eyes

by GwiYeoWeo



Series: You can call me Queen V(ee) [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Hair-pulling, Implied/Referenced DanVer, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post DMC5, Threesome - M/M/M, Topping from the Bottom, V is a Queen, dom!bottom!V, don't at me, sharing is caring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/pseuds/GwiYeoWeo
Summary: It paints an unfair picture: two brothers, two equals but one treated tenderly and the other one cruelly. V would feel guilty about it except it twists his guts oh so sweetly, to see Dante knocked down so low and cradled in one hand, to see Vergil reduced to a glorified lap dog practically eating out of his other. He could conquer the world like this, like Urizen wanted to, but all he wants is to conquer two demons in their bed.V indulges Dante on a whim, prettying himself up in red and leather and lace -- naturally, Vergil's invited too.(In other words: V fucks.)
Relationships: Dante/V (Devil May Cry), Dante/V/Vergil (Devil May Cry), V/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Series: You can call me Queen V(ee) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935502
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	1. light me up

**Author's Note:**

> /sweats  
> i just, really like this pairing okay  
>  ~~and i have a thing for pretty boi edgelords~~

He could get drunk off of this. 

Naught but human skin, slim and so very mortal, yet V feels like a god in the corner of this little bedroom. Here he understands the madness of power, the curse of it that threatens like a double-edged blade, why Vergil had been so enamored with it to throw everything away and to burn down anything else that stood in his path. It's dangerously delicious, and V doesn't think he'll ever be able to let go of it again after having tasted it. The world could try prying it out of his cold, dead skeletal fingers, but it's got two hell-tempered demons to deal with first. 

And there is power in that. 

Dante and Vergil could snap him like a twig before he could even recite the first line of a stanza. They could pin him down, take what's theirs and what is not, and whatever struggles he'd put up would just be a gentle breeze through their fingers. Yet here they are, obedient and quiet but impatiently waiting for deliverance. V is only human; still, they revere him like a king, dare not oppose his unspoken decree. 

He watches on from his nest of pillows that feels more like a throne, sweeps a lazy gaze over Dante to Vergil then back again. There's heat and savage want in their eyes, pupils thinned into slits, that sends a burning chill down his spine. It reminds him of the night he had first arrived at Devil May Cry, when he had spoken Vergil's name as Dante's reason and destiny. The aura that had rolled off of the devil hunter was all demon and pure predator and a bloodlust that threatened to burn him alive. Now, though, there's two brothers, and the fire that rolls off them stokes a different flame of anticipation in the pit of his stomach.

V considers himself fortunate — blessed, rather — that he has the opportunity to even breathe in the arousal that thickens the air. He doesn't know himself how he returned; Dante sure as hell doesn't, and Vergil could never come up with a plausible answer despite scouring ancient scripts and turning over every book under Sparda's name and Eva's salvaged collection. Dante welcomed him into the Sparda household with such enthusiasm that he wouldn’t take no as an answer, and V suspected it stemmed from the need to piece back together a broken family. Despite everything — all the blood, deaths, and betrayal — Dante missed Vergil; V had once been a part of him, maybe he still is in a way, so it probably made sense to gather whatever fragments and shadows of the older brother he could.

Vergil was less enthused, just a stony gaze cracked by an arrogant rift of a smile. But while he was cold, he was not frigid; time let his walls thaw and after a while, V and Vergil found an agreeable companionship in each other. It wasn’t too difficult to get along with someone he once was, and Vergil had come to terms with his humanity after having it returned to him, magnified as it was after the whole ordeal. Plus, Vergil needed someone to complain to about his little brother's disgusting habits. 

Still, it wasn’t until Dante made an offhand comment to Vergil, saying something about “Embracing your humanity, loser” after introducing his older brother to a drinking game and a competition of who could eat the most pizza slices. Or was it to see who could eat them the fastest? V doesn’t remember. Only that Vergil later took the remark quite literally and took V bent over Dante's desk — while Dante _watched_ from the wet bar — and the relationship among all three of them shifted irrevocably and oh so delightfully. 

Though it came as a surprise when, for all the power Vergil had hungered after and all the power that Dante held himself, they both gave it up so easily before V’s feet — such offerings of sacrifice that they might as well offer their lovely necks for him to bleed. V had ached for that power, when he’d been crumbling and fading and just a temporary soul clinging to mere existence, and what little strength he had borrowed was not even his own but from cast-off nightmares.

The nightmares, he misses sometimes. In the quiet, he finds himself in want of Griffon's chattery and foul-mouthed beak, the cracks of his jokes and the cracks of his lightning; in the cold, for Shadow's inky fluid fur and warm rumble of her chest, rubbing against his legs and curling a tail around his thigh. There's even a place for Nightmare, that left a certain void in his chest when it had once been a low hovering presence in the back of his mind, a constant but not uncomfortable weight at the base of his neck. 

But just when he thinks he’s alone again, it becomes apparent that he’s not. He now has two demons by his side; they’re not inked onto his skin or sealed in the contract of his soul, but they may as well be with how _desperate_ they want to lay their hands on him. To lay claim with their claws and fangs, to taste his flesh and drink up his warmth. To devour him. 

If only they could.

V won’t let them — not yet. The two most powerful demons, one a prime candidate to rule over the Underworld itself and both who could just easily rip V apart and have their way with him, cowed by a whispered word from his lips and a half-lidded gaze raking over them. 

He beckons a hand toward Vergil, a gesture they all know too well, and the man is so quick V could swear he teleported; the lack of residual magic and ghostly blue are the only evidence he didn’t. He hears a soft huff of displeasure from Dante, annoyed and restless that he’s received no permission while his brother has, and V raises a single finger to his own lips in a silent order to quiet down and be patient. 

Vergil, though, blocks his view of Dante when he shifts over him, running hands over the deep red leather of V's corset. This strappy little number was Dante's idea to begin with; he claimed that while V looked lovely in his typical blackwear, some color would really come alive against his pale skin — that color being Dante's signature red, of course. So now he's here, indulging Dante with the red corset that's uncomfortably tight around his waist, adding curves to what had already been thin to begin with, and lacy underwear that hugs around his hips and flush against the crevice of his ass. 

It's certainly not what he'd prefer to wear. He already has a lowball count of how many marks he'll end up in from the outfit alone — counting the marks Dante and Vergil will leave, on the other hand, is like counting grains of sand — where the leather rubs a little too rough against his ribs and his hip bones and the little metal studs that press into his stomach. He's mildly thankful that Dante has a thing for leather and not, say, latex; V would have definitely said no to the latter. But despite the discomfort, he'll admit he does feel like temptation given human form, a delicious honey trap with the way Dante ran his tongue over his lips when he first laid eyes on V's presented gift. Not even Vergil escaped, a flare of brilliant blue circling around his pupils that were usually so ice cold. 

Technically, V’s already spoiling Dante by wearing this skimpy outfit to satisfy whatever perverted fantasy the man had in mind, so it’s only fair to let Vergil have at it first. Yet realistically, it’s just fun to know that Dante’s absolutely dying inside in want of being Vergil, who has the privilege of touching instead of silently watching. (But really, if he’s going to get this sort of high-strung reaction out of them just by slapping some scraps on himself, he may even ask Vergil what sort of cosplay he wanted V to dress in next time.) 

Vergil nips at his chest, slightly pushed up as it is by the corset, and leaves reddening trails behind his lips as he works upwards. V discovered he’s the mouthier of the twins, and more often than not it’s Vergil who ends up making more claims, spilling dark blues and purples onto the porcelain canvas of V’s skin, unmarred and blank now that he no longer holds demon contracts. He doesn’t mind. Rather, he loves it. It had been for a short time but he had gotten used to the sight of black swirls and sharp ink on his skin that looking in the mirror now, with no trace of the nightmares he once carried as companions, actually vexes him. He doesn’t miss the days of dragging his decaying body around, getting by the skin of his teeth and the borrowed strength of cast-off demons, but bearing Vergil and Dante’s marks brings a sort of comfort and familiarity. 

V tilts his head up in silent permission, presenting the long column of his neck for him to further mark, and combs a lazy hand through Vergil’s bangs, loosening a few strands of hair from its usual style. When he feels a particularly sharp bite at the junction of his neck and shoulder, he hums in approval and lightly scratches the back of Vergil’s skull to spur him on. That earns him a particularly low growl that he can feel against his throat, and it goes straight to his heart and groin, flushing both with red hot blood. His chest thunders at the idea of a predator wrapping its teeth around his neck, where a simple motion could forfeit his life; yet here, he’s given it, freely and wholly trusting to a demon who needs none of that but is restraining everything just because V said so. It’s thrilling, all of it, and V flutters his eyes closed when he can’t help the shudder that goes down his spine, offering soft moans to encourage Vergil’s adventure. 

But when Vergil starts getting a little too teeth-happy — there needs to be some room left over for Dante, after all — V lifts his knee and presses it in between Vergil’s legs, firm against the arousal that responds hot and heavy in kind. Vergil stiffens, digs his teeth in just a bit harder but makes no move to make any more marks. Gently, V tugs on Vergil’s hair to pull him away, and he almost regrets it when he feels that warm mouth leave his neck. The hands, though, they stay on his chest and waist, clawing into him with greed and want and possessiveness that V will never get enough of. 

When their eyes meet again, verdant to ice, V feels unbelievably _giddy._ There's a beautiful tension set in that gaze, a purpose and a will to burn and consume, that thrashes and conflicts with a desire to please and a desire to rebel. He sees the strain set in Vergil's jaw, the sharp teeth that peek out from his drawn-back lips, clenched but ready to snap. It looks like a threat, an image of a wolf baring its teeth in a display of aggression and dominance, but V knows that if Vergil is trying to subdue anyone, it is himself. 

V feels overwhelming fondness at that, and the swell of emotion almost makes him falter. Almost makes him want to give up the charade and give Vergil everything he wants. Because he knows that it is a feat in itself for Vergil to deny himself anything, when all through his life he's taken what he wants — if they're worthy of being his — methods and morals be damned; he nearly plunged the human world into chaos twice to serve his own purposes, even if one of them was technically Urizen's doing and not wholly Vergil's. But here, he's keeping himself in check, willingly binding himself to the shackles and limitations V has set for him, all for a single human who can do nothing should Vergil so desire to change the tides. Vergil likes to preen and tout to Dante on the finer points of self-restraint but V knows he struggles with it just as much as little brother does. 

And speaking of little brother, V can see him absolutely fighting to keep still, now that he's moved Vergil a little bit away to get Dante back in his view. Dante's hands clench and unclench, knuckles turning white with each tight fist he makes, and he shifts his weight uncomfortably between his left and right as he tries to stay put. V thinks of a dog eager for a strip of steak dangling in front of it, sad tail thumping against the ground and scratching the floor up with its front paws, but keeping to its haunches because it knows it can't take until given permission. 

V kind of wants to make him cry. He'd certainly like to see that one day, eyes rimmed red with frustration and tears spilling from pent-up desire. But not today, not when Dante is trying so hard and being so good; and V isn't particularly in the mood for being cruel. He's feeling quite magnanimous, actually.

So he nudges Vergil, presses two fingers to his chest and the man obliges, going as far back as V pushes him to. He flips their positions, has Vergil resting up against the headboard and straddles his lap, spreading his knees far apart as he leans forward into Vergil and holds himself steady with two hands on the other's firm shoulders, perking his ass up into the air for Dante to view. He gives a bratty little wiggle, and tosses a look behind him just in time to catch the pitiful whine and despairing gaze Dante's struck with. He looks about half-mad from envy, the other half from the ache visibly straining against his leather pants. 

"Patience," V says in a soft reprimand, before Vergil's wandering hands demand his attention again. Warm fingers skim his hips and up the leather of his waist, before coming back down again to rub circles into the bare skin that peeks out from below, and again there's a pair of lips and a set of teeth making work on his collarbone. But before Vergil can make any real progress marking his territory on V's skin, V taps him twice on his cheek that Vergil recognizes as a command, reluctantly pulling his face away. V placates him with a chaste kiss on his nose, even if he knows both of them would prefer kisses that are all teeth and sweltering heat instead, and it hardly satiates the demon prowling behind those eyes. 

“You really need to learn to share with little brother, _Vergil_ ,” V says, lips awfully close to skin, and he speaks the name with an extra purr to rile him up even more. He can see it works, the way Vergil bites down on his own lips hard enough to break skin and how his eyes flicker with danger. 

“You,” Vergil says in time, voice rough and low with strain and want, “were _mine_ to begin with.” As if to punctuate that, his nails dig in a little deeper into V’s hips, and the beautiful sting of it promises bruises there. 

V feels his heart flutter at the possessiveness in those words, and he rewards the feeling by grinding his hips down to rut against Vergil’s arousal. Even through lacy underwear and cleanly-pressed trousers, there’s enough friction there to illicit a shuddering breath from the demon, and he can't help the moan that escapes from his own mouth either. 

Vergil might hold the truth, and V won’t deny him that: he _literally_ was a part of Vergil’s soul, a corner of his heart that was abandoned to collect cobwebs and dust. But now, what was once deemed useless, has become an irreplaceable facet in Vergil’s life, and V plans on exercising every ounce of power he has in that. 

“And as I said,” V tuts, “learn to share.”

He wrangles the hands off his hips with little effort, a gentle swat to the knuckles has them withdrawing, and again he shifts one of his legs to nestle it in between Vergil’s, coaxing them to shift farther apart and to make space. He turns around and nestles himself into his new make-shift throne that is Vergil’s lap, lounging back into the man’s chest and lodging the rest of himself in between spread legs, letting his arms rest on lean, strong thighs. He makes a point to shift his hips into place, once more rubbing against Vergil’s groin to draw out another frustrated groan from behind. 

Yes, he could _very_ much get used to this. Warmth at his back, eager hands and hungry lips lavishing every inch of his skin, and the beautiful cock-aching sight that is Dante who’s absolutely salivating and desperate to reach for V. And he’s decided Dante’s been such a good sport, whose rewards were far past their due now after he’s been teased for just a bit longer than intended. Time to loosen the leash — a little, at least.

“Come, Dante.”

It’s something between a whine and a growl, a sound that comes off as rather pitiful yet aggressive all the same, when V finally offers him some slack. Dante nearly pounces on the bed, the old wood and rusty screws creaking in protest like they’re about to break, just like the swell of heat and suspense that gushes forth. He’s on V in less than two seconds, crawling over him and in between Vergil’s legs, and the fervent need he brings lights an inferno everywhere he touches. He's all teeth and tongue, scattering fireflowers across V's skin that alight his nerves and smother the air in his lungs. 

“Fucking finally,” he groans in between his bites and kisses. “Thought I was gonna _die._ ”

“Dramatic,” V hears from behind, whispered in a huff of a breath. He’s not going to point out that Vergil wasn’t any better off either though.

Dante blazes a path with his tongue and hands, caring not whether he tastes the leather of the corset or the salt of V’s skin, and he razes it all with wild abandon as he seeks to claim and conquer. He’s a wildfire, more reckless and chaotic than Vergil, and doesn’t even care for the bites and marks that his brother has already made, running right over them and burning his own right on top, and V's blood sings in response, pulsating beneath every inch he touches. 

Vergil snaps his teeth at Dante when he gets too close to the mark on V’s neck, the one the older twin paid special attention to, and stares him down with a territorial growl. V feels Vergil’s hands turn greedy, nearly yanking him closer back and away from Dante. And Dante, in response, rears his head and growls back in indignation. 

V laughs, low and amused. It’s adorable, despite them being two fully-grown demons that could easily pull the world asunder should they so choose, and it probably says something concerning about him that he doesn't care he's stuck in the crossfire between two territorial beasts. He feels pride and arrogance welling up inside, having them bicker at each other like this. Over him. For him. He feels treasured, wanted, desired, something so worthy to be fought over and coveted by such fearsome monsters. 

But he’d prefer it if they didn’t start a fight here and now and interrupt their lovely intimate moment, so V steers Dante away with two hands on either side of his jaw, pulling his face close to his own. If they want to fight later, they can; he quite loves seeing the power ripple through their iron-wrought muscles and hear their roars and blades sing — music and eye candy that none can compare. 

“I think I’d like your lips elsewhere,” he practically purrs, heated breath ghosting against Dante’s cheek. 

Dante catches the hint easily, and the grin he flashes is all savage delight. He spares a glance at Vergil, sharing a knowing cocky look that he gets a proper kiss rather than big brother, before diving in to claim V’s lips, teeth and tongue and fire. V opens easily to him, parts his lips when Dante's tongue comes knocking at the door, and they slide over each other with unabashed familiarity. He drinks from V like a man dragged through the desert, sloppy and wet with no care but just simple desperation. 

V moves his hands to fist one in Dante's hair, holding the thick locks there in tight fingers, and for one to claw nails down a broad chest, leaving angry red streaks down, down, down. He gets lost in the kiss for a while, the obscene noise of tongue and lips clashing combined with his own bloodrush creates a roar in his ears, and he lets his mind wander among the hands that roam over him. There’s one gently scratching at his belly, nails getting caught in the criss-cross lacing there, another running across the length of his thigh to hike his knee over a shoulder, and he certainly loses count of _how many_ and _where_ because it feels like there’s at least a dozen hands on him now when there should only be two pairs from Dante and Vergil. It really doesn’t matter, though, only that he feels utterly wrapped up in ardor and devotion, sandwiched in between two living furnaces. 

Unfortunately, his human lungs hardly hold a candle to Dante’s, so he’s forced to break the kiss first. V brings a hand to Dante’s neck, gently wraps his fingers and pushes him off, parting with a stolen breath and a resounding gasp for air. He holds Dante there by the throat, feels the strong pulse beneath his palm. Again, this simple act of keeping his hand on such a vulnerable part here, fills him with an undeniable fondness. Sure, he’s only human with human strength, but the trust that Dante gives him by simply letting him press his fingers against him is immeasurable; a predator freely offering its neck to someone so far weaker. 

Dante drives home that point by arching his neck, lifting his chin to expose it all before him, but not without an arrogant grin. V won’t refuse the offer though, especially not when it’s presented to him so tantalizingly. He unhooks his leg from Dante’s shoulder to lean forward — unfortunate that he isn’t as flexible as he’d like to be — and sinks his own teeth in, right below that Adam’s apple. 

“ _Fuck yeah._ ” Dante says not-so-eloquently, yet V can feel the rumble of his voice through his teeth and is spurred on to bite harder, until he tastes blood on his tongue. V doesn’t quite share the propensity for violence as the Sparda brothers do, but he won’t shy from a little bloodletting when they ask of him so prettily. He’s only mildly sorry that the wound won’t make it past the hour, won’t even leave a fading bruise behind, thanks to their supernatural fortitude, so he pulls back quickly to survey the reddened ring of indents before Dante brushes over it with reverent fingers and smears the blood down the rest of his neck. 

“Gorgeous,” V whispers, momentarily taken back by the absolutely wondrous image Dante makes, and the man visibly swallows at the praise. Wet lips, darkened neck, sweat glistening off his delightfully slick skin. Strong, powerful, _obedient._ He could do without that battered leather coat though; why Dante even bothered to put it on when he was shirtless in the first place, V can only guess. He rests his hands on Dante’s hips, travels upward over the crests and valleys of his stomach, and spreads them outward to sculpted shoulders when he reaches his chest, sliding the coat away. Dante gets the idea and shrugs the rest of it off, throwing it haphazardly across the room, and displays himself like a damn trophy. 

He’s breath-taking, and the sight alone nearly punches the breath out of V’s lungs. He’s seen Dante in all his glory in all his backdrops, bloodied and feral in the heat of battle, wanton and lustful in the heat of love. He’s a marble statue come alive, body wrought from steel and power that V will never have himself, but he can’t complain about that when he can hold it in his hands as if it were really his own. So he does, and runs his fingertips over the firm expanse of Dante’s chest, rounding his lower pectorals before dipping them into the dips and wings of muscle that spread over his ribs to his waist. 

“Right back at you, darlin’.” Dante watches him like something voracious, eyes drinking in the lovely red that contrasts so well against V’s skin and the promise of treasure barely hidden behind the lace underwear, swollen as it is now. 

V feels himself grow hotter under Dante’s gaze alone, and he _really_ wants to let go of the control he has over all three of them. He wants to throw himself into wild abandon, let Dante and Vergil ravage him like the demons they are and just give in to carnal pleasure; but this is a sweet torture for him just as it is for them, and he won’t do any of them injustice because of a little temptation. So he reels himself back in, reminding himself that he has a duty to them like they do to him in turn. 

Dante probably has his fill of looking, because he starts getting handsy again and hooks both of V’s legs over his shoulders this time, lowering himself to nip at the corset. V almost feels jealous that he’s paying more attention to a piece of clothing that shouldn’t even be called clothing, when it hardly covers his torso and leaves his upper chest bare, but this is a gift for Dante and it only matters because it is V who wears it. He isn’t a petty lover, but he loathes the idea of Dante — Dante and Vergil, both — looking upon another as they do him. Not like they would or even could; he knows his place in their lives, no longer a fleeting existence and now something far more permanent, but it’s the sentiment that counts. 

Dante’s mouth travels south, stopping before the navel to press a brief kiss and rub his scraggly beard across the bare skin there. It’s an unkept thing, not too coarse but not silky soft either, and he knows it’ll leave a rash if he’s too rough, yet V welcomes the roughness of it and threads both his hands into Dante’s hair in encouragement. When Dante’s teeth start at the delicate lacing though, hot breath ghosting over V’s cock, V decides to tighten the metaphorical leash again, and his gentle grip turns hard, yanking Dante up by his hair. 

“Did I say you could touch there?” V asks, almost cruel. 

And Dante. Dante _whines_ , low and raw, and he massages his hands up and down V’s legs in silent supplication. The look in his eyes is almost heart-breaking, not unlike a kicked puppy, and he rubs his cheek against an inner thigh, gazing oh so despondently at V. Half in apology, half in begging. 

_‘Such a darling,’_ V thinks to himself, loosening his grip on Dante’s hair to pat at his cheek affectionately. _‘And entirely mine.’_

“Use your words, Dante. Tell me what you want.” This _is_ all for Dante, after all, and V needs to know what his dear little demon wants to make him happy. Vergil’s mostly just along for the ride this go round, but V doesn’t do anything in halves — not anymore — and despite their differences and petty squabbles, the twins had long discovered a certain thing about sharing, even if they like to make a scene about it sometimes. 

Dante has to take a moment to think about it, not for the lack of imagination but to figure out how words work and in what order he needs to put them in. He bites the bottom of his lips, an act more seductive than what he probably means it to be because V’s eyes are immediately drawn to those sharp canines that could rip out his heart. 

Finally, though, after what seems like ages, he says, “Wanna take you in my mouth, just like this” — he taps a finger on the corset, meaning that’ll stay on in the likely event — “then take you from behind, pretty little ass in the air.” Followed by a quick little, “Please” because Dante tries to mind his manners in the most unnecessary scenarios. 

V has half a mind to hear him beg for it instead, would love to hear that strong mouth whisper a sweet chain of _‘pleasepleaseplease’_ but he thinks he’ll schedule that for a little later. There’s still a shadow of hesitance in the lines around his mouth, however, and something like merciful restraint that has no place being there. V isn’t going to have any of that. Because he wants it _all._

“That won’t do, Dante,” V reprimands, and his hand turns mean when it moves from Dante’s cheek to grip him by the chin, rough and violent as he yanks him forward to bring their lips close. _“Tell me what you want."_

He’s human — or at the very least, something close to it, considering his dubious origins and following resurrection — not hollow bird bones; and while he can't take what Dante or Vergil can both dish out in their entirety and swallow down just as easily, he's not brittle glass. He may have been crumbling, _dying,_ once upon a time, but those days are long over and Dante seems to forget that sometimes. It probably doesn’t help that he had zoomed off on Cavalier, after seeing for himself the way V’s body broke apart in fractales and ashen skin, and left V behind in his hot-headed pursuit to find and end Urizen on that fateful day. Dante made sure to atone for that later — in ultimate sincerity, on his knees and delightfully bare — but the guilt and memory still lingers. 

V just has to remind him sometimes, take him out of the past and back to the present. 

Dante must hear the command in his voice, and his gaze snaps upward past V and onto Vergil, who had been content the whole time to mark up the entirety of V’s back, lavishing between kisses and tongue and teeth. Vergil must feel that gaze, because V feels his tongue travel up along the ridges of his spine before Vergil props his chin on his shoulder to stare right back at Dante, eyebrows raised in an inquisitive look.

V takes his other hand, the one not forcing Dante up by the chin, and lightly pats it on Vergil’s cheek, and he momentarily breaks eye contact with Dante to turn his head and nuzzle against the junction of Vergil’s ear and jaw, a reward for being patient and for dutifully coloring his skin up. He feels a smirk crawl up Vergil’s face, no doubt arrogant and pompous and directed at Dante, and the breath of a smug laugh — victorious in the light of Dante’s dissatisfaction. 

It paints an unfair picture: two brothers, two equals but one treated tenderly and the other one cruelly. V would feel guilty about it except it twists his guts oh so sweetly, to see Dante knocked down so low and cradled in one hand, to see Vergil reduced to a glorified lap dog practically eating out of his other. He could conquer the world like this, like Urizen wanted to, but all he wants is to conquer two demons in their bed. 

Dante, who must be feeling a little cheated, turns that wound of injustice into something brazen and honest, turning his tone husky and demanding now. “I’m gonna eat you right up, squeeze every little drop out of you and then some,” he says, voice teetering between the boundary of human and demon, “Flip you over and push you down, mount you and make you cry, sweetpea. And you’ll suck off Vergil, take his whole cock in that dainty little mouth of yours, and I’ll see your pretty face all covered up by him, fill both your holes with us so you’ll be tasting us for days.” 

It’s nothing unordinary, the request, and it is neither the first nor the last of its kind. V half expected it when he took both of them to bed, but the anticipation has yet to grow dull. The way Dante puts it into proper words though, dressed up in lust-addled eyes and a fearsome mouth and thrown into the heated air, stirs a particularly delightful tightness in V’s belly. 

And of course, Dante ends it with a demure “Please” after the filth because that’s just what he does. 

V responds in the best way he knows how: a soft moan that spills from his kiss-swollen lips and a smile that can only mean wicked blessings. He twists his wrist on Dante's chin, slides his thumb in between welcoming lips, and Dante sucks on it greedily like it's V's cock instead, moaning like he's tasting Eden. V sucks in a harsh breath when Dante’s eyes flick up at him, such a sweet gaze revering him like royalty. 

Behind him, V feels Vergil stiffen against his lower back, no doubt excited for the proposal Dante's offered. He cranes his neck back around, suppresses the excitement that bubbles in his throat and gathers in his loins, because he almost gets lost in the gray oceans that storm in Vergil's eyes, a terrifying churn that could drown him if he lingers too long. He'd drown in them gladly, in those pools of single-minded lust and desire. 

"What say you, Vergil? Will you play nice for us today?" he asks as if there’s an option, when they all know it’s just a cursory question. 

“If Dante behaves, I might be inclined.” Vergil replies as wry as he can manage, which is to say, not very. There’s excitement laced in every syllable, the shudder of a breath as he tries to play cool as opposed to the heat rutting against V’s ass. How adorable.

In any other mood, V might draw the game out. Make them both work for it, make them beg for it with their sweet lips and silver tongues, tease them with the threat of refusal and make them crash with a crescendo just to lift them up again. Slap that regal mask of control off Vergil’s face and leave him gasping for release, maybe push Dante down and ride him with an agonizingly slow pace, denying both brothers the privilege of touching. He’d take his pleasure for himself, refuse theirs, and leave them to their own splendid suffering once he’s had his fill. 

It’s an idea for another day.

So V decides it’s time to get the show on the road and move on to the main event, his own need pushing him onward and through. He rolls his hips back and meets Vergil’s weak thrust, grinning in triumph when they meet each other just right, when Vergil bites down on his shoulder to keep his groan down. V doesn’t shy from his own voice, however, and even exaggerates the pleased sigh that makes it past his throat, knowing both Vergil and Dante like to hear just as much as they like to feel.

“Dante,” he says so sweetly, gently, like the hand that moves from Dante’s chin, popping his thumb out of that tempting mouth with a wet noise, to crawl around and grasp that crown of silver threads, massaging and scratching Dante like a good pet. 

“Take your pleasure — and mine.”


	2. smoke me down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante finally gets his prize, Vergil his reward, and V well. He just wins everything, honestly.
> 
> V for Victor, and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> ~~apologies for any typos and whatnot~~

Dante dives. 

V’s hand almost flies off, hovering in the air for a split second at the sudden disappearance of Dante’s head, but it’s just as quick to descend back down, gripping with a fury when he feels a searing wet heat lapping at his cock. It’s clothed still, just a thin layer of lace separating him and Dante’s delectable mouth, but Dante mouths at his hardened length, and V tosses his head back in a strike of lightning, miraculously avoiding butting Vergil in the face. He lets his neck loll back, to rest his head on Vergil's supportive shoulder, and his breath gets sucked right out of him while Dante sucks through the lingerie. He didn't expect the stimulation, didn't realize how aching his own need was as he was too occupied with Vergil and Dante's, so just the feeling of that wicked tongue is an explosion on his nerves. 

He feels fingers pull against the thin strap against his hip, and he hardly needs to lift up for Dante to slide the underwear off because the damn beast _rips_ _it apart._ V should reprimand him for that, but. Well. That’s pretty fucking hot, he’s not gonna lie. So he’ll let that slide — like the tongue that glides smoothly over his length, turning the rest of his skin into gooseflesh. 

V already has one hand in Dante’s hair, but he needs another thing to grip. So he reaches around with his other hand behind him, finding Vergil’s firm arm to hold just as Dante swallows him down in one go. V’s mouth parts in a soundless breath, and all he can do is uselessly chase that searing cavern; except, it’s damn hard to with the way Dante pins him down with a strong hand on his hip, and Vergil’s arms wrapped around his waist is like adding a metric ton on top of that inhuman strength. 

The lack of a gag reflex is wondrous for one thing — maybe Dante was born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline — and his technique is another. V doesn’t really care to know  _ how _ he learned his skills, but he’s never more grateful for that cocky (heh) tongue than when he’s on the receiving end of it. When Dante pulls off to lick the slit, lapping off the pre-come that leaks shamelessly, V finally finds his voice again in something unabashedly filthy that resounds in the air.

Vergil takes that as an opportunity to snake his hand up V’s chest and throat, to tilt his head over and swallow the rest of his moans with their mouths. Where V finds it difficult to focus on any one thing, Dante and Vergil’s mouths equally distracting and blazing, Vergil makes up for it and leads, taking what had been denied from him and given to Dante instead — this time, a kiss more appropriately fueled by lust and not some half-baked consolation prize meant to appease. He takes V’s lower lip in between sharp teeth, making sure,  _ demanding _ , his mouth parts properly to devour those sweet noises. 

It’s absolutely sinful, the sounds they all make together, a private little concert of their own making, delirious music that drains their blood into a tight whirlpool that boils. Dante groans around V’s cock, lips slick and throat so pliant, and the vibrations shoot up the nerves within V, who twitches and writhes against Vergil’s own hard-on. They sigh and gasp, from small hitches of breaths to guttural moans, over and on and into one another. 

Dante delightfully breaks their rhythm when he brings his fingers over V's balls, massaging them for a moment as he picks up his pace and bobs his head faster and deeper, before brushing over the ring of muscle farther down. He lightly prods at it, expecting resistance, but he instantly finds V slick and soft and practically  _ inviting _ .

V meets his gaze when he looks up inquisitively, the silent question in his eyes answered by the salacious smile he teases Dante with; he'd look arrogant almost, if it weren't for the make-out session that already made his voluptuous lips look impossibly more obscene and his eyes blown with libido. 

It really shouldn't come as a surprise, but V finds Dante's expression endearing anyway. Dante and Vergil belong to him just as he belongs to them, and he takes care of what is his; only expected that he'd prepare himself for Dante properly — if he was going to dress up in something his sweet, wicked demon fantasized about so enthusiastically, might as well go all the way and an extra mile. It wasn't so difficult, besides, when he imagined how the Spardas would behold him, as he slicked his fingers up and curled them inside himself earlier before their arrival, stretching and scissoring until he was confident he could take Dante with just a bit of burn. The way he likes it.

“Christ, that’s hot.” Dante takes a moment to give his gratitude, rubbing his cheek against V’s inner thigh as he looks upon V like a dream come true. “Why are you so hot? It’s unfair.”

V merely laughs, low and honest through the haze of sex clouding his mind. “Would you leave me cold in winter’s chill instead?”

Dante straightens his back, biting the thin skin of V’s knee and kissing over it in a fake apology. “I’d never.”

V raises a skeptical eyebrow, knowing full well that Dante means the truth, but he’s feeling quite the minx anyway. He withdraws the same knee that was kissed and presses his foot against Dante’s chest to give himself some space. There’s little resistance as Dante sits back on his haunches to do as he’s ordered, and V rewards him by turning over onto his hands and knees, lifting his hips up and arching his back like a well-loved bow. 

“Do warm me up then,” V purrs, looking over his shoulder to invite him with a demand in his eyes. “I’m feeling a little chilled.”

Satisfied with Dante’s sharp inhale of breath, V lets him fumble with his belt and turns his eyes back to Vergil, aching and damp and straining against his trousers. He’ll make good on his word. He reaches with deft fingers, supporting his weight on his elbows, and picks apart the button and slips the zipper down with practiced ease, admiring the dark wet spot on Vergil’s briefs before slipping them down as well. Vergil quietly helps by lifting his hips a bit, enough for his cock to spring out in greeting; where Vergil is silent, his arousal speaks volumes and practically screams for attention and in need. (He won’t be silent by the time V’s halfway done with him, though.)

Vergil brushes the curtain of hair away from V’s face, combing it back with his —  _ their _ — characteristic habit and tucking the unruly locks behind his ear, brushing his fingertips down V’s temple before cupping the side of his face. He rubs a light thumb over the sharp cheekbone, touch almost featherlight. And gentle. For all the swift violence and precise aggression he doles out like the breath from his lungs, words sharp or bitter and blade diamond fine, Vergil has drawn a line with V. It’s thin, almost invisible, but it is there. A self-made limit.

Maybe out of guilt and atonement, or maybe out of a bizarre form of narcissism. But Vergil handles him with a courtesy usually reserved for Yamato. V thinks it’s his way of making up for lost time, for lost affection and treatment that led to his disregard and  _ disdain _ for his weakness, for his humanity. That led to V’s brittle body and crumbling bone, when he had been hacked off from Vergil’s soul that fateful day; a physical representation of Vergil’s crimes against his own self. That led to now, Vergil looking upon him like a creature of wonder and mysteries, like V shouldn’t be here. And by all means, he really shouldn’t even be able to exist outside of Vergil but here he is.

V encourages a firmer touch by leaning into the hand. It works, in that Vergil presses his palm closer and moves his thumb to lightly tug V’s bottom lip down, marvelling at the soft fullness of it. V isn’t sure why their semblances are so dissimilar, but it’s hardly a problem when both Dante and Vergil look upon him with such avarice. V catches his thumb with his teeth when Vergil’s thumb ventures upon him again, lightly scraping the first knuckle before drawing it in between his smiling lips and suckling on it, a snapshot preview of what he plans to do. Vergil traps a stifled breath in his throat, teeth clamping down on his lips to lock it down, and V huffs a breath of laughter at his darling attempt of keeping quiet. 

He won’t be having any of that, no sir. V dips his head down, placing a light kiss on the tip of Vergil’s cock, licking his lips to taste the bitter tang of pre-come smeared across. Vergil nearly bucks up to chase after his mouth, but V is quick to tap his fingers on the sharp line of his hip, effectively pinning him back down onto the bed with barely a touch. V wraps his hand around his sizeable girth, heavy and hot against his palm and fingers, and drags up and down at a terribly slow pace to which Vergil shudders and digs his nails into the bedding underneath. 

And still so valiantly quiet.

Without further preamble, V takes him into his mouth, the head pushing past his lips easily to sit on his tongue, where Vergil’s flavor can properly flood. He doesn’t stop there, keeps on taking until he feels the familiar prickling of his gag reflex and pulls off with a wet pop. His skills pale compared to Dante’s wonderful ability to deepthroat, unfortunately, but he makes up for it with his fingers and tongue. He slides his tongue down, from tip to bottom, using both his hands to caress what his mouth cannot reach, and he moans at the throbbing he can feel against his lips and fingers as he works his way back up. 

It picks at the first lock of Vergil’s forbearance, clicking open and shattering like the sweet sound he breaks out of Vergil’s mouth. A small victory, one of the many to come, and V finds his own cock jumping at the sound and at Vergil’s light hold on the back of his head. 

A hand cups his left ass, reminding him of unfinished business back there, momentarily distracted as he was by Vergil splayed out before him, heaving and gasping now that V’s started to unravel his ties. He really can’t be blamed; seeing a typically put-together man as Vergil come apart like this is a magnificent sight to behold, one he’ll never tire of. 

Heart rolls out in waves behind him, over his back and down his thighs, and he feels Dante shift his weight over him, a heady presence that threatens to give him a whole body shudder. He thinks to roll his hips back, to meet Dante behind him and discourage any hesitation that might still be lingering, but he doubts he’ll be able to move much with the confident grip that’s on his hip now. 

Then he feels  _ it. _ He’s feverish where Dante ruts his bare cock against him, sliding in and over and back again along the crevice above where  _ he should be _ but has yet to enter. The simple sensation of it sends shivers of anticipation up his spine, where it crawls and spreads in the flush of pink that must certainly dust his back and shoulders and chest now. V has a fleeting thought to snap his teeth at Dante, to knock him back down a peg since apparently his confidence has leveled up to arrogance now, and to hiss out an order to stop toying around. But that would mean he’d have to take his mouth off Vergil, and it’d be such a shame to stop now when he has that perfect rhythm going, made obvious by how the nails against his neck are starting to scratch and the pleasure in Vergil’s voice is pitching ever subtly higher.

So whatever, let Dante take his time and enjoy it. That’s fine.  _ ‘This is his present,’ _ he reminds himself, because really, it is; a present for what, though, is up for debate. 

The last acknowledgment he gives Dante is a wiggle of his hips, sliding against that heavy heat in tandem, before gathering his attention back in full-force to Vergil. He strokes him down with one hand, firm and rough with just barely enough slick for that delightful friction he knows Vergil likes, and uses his other hand to cup his balls, taut and swollen within his fingers. 

Vergil tosses his head back, and V marvels at the tension in his body, sees the way his abdominals clench and the tremble in his thighs, how they spread farther apart for V. Like parting the ocean, Vergil a cold terrible storm made tame by V’s sweet lips and wicked hands. 

He lets his breathy laugh ghost over Vergil’s reddened head, lets him know just how close his lips are to swallowing him down again before he takes the plunge. He moves a hand lower to the hilt, gives himself space to take the first half in his mouth inch-by-inch, agonizingly slower than what he had done initially but farther and deeper this time, willing his throat to open and relax and recalling what Dante had taught him all those moons ago. He loosens his jaw, presses his tongue along the underside of Vergil’s cock, feels it thick and pulsing in his throat —

A searing piston pushes him forward, the stretch and burn trapping a scream in his throat by Vergil in his mouth, and one of his hands scrambles out to steady himself, finding itself gripping Vergil’s loosened vest. He chokes, and he pulls his mouth off to cough and gasp for air, uselessly laying his face against Vergil’s thigh; torn between the burn in his throat and the burn in his ass, he’s struck dizzy and thrown in a limbo of fierce pleasure and delectable pain, brain unable to differentiate the situation on either ends. In essence, he’s short circuiting.

_ “Fuuuck.” _ Dante’s groan is low and guttural, and V can feel the rumble in the way Dante's grip trembles on his hips. There’s a pause there, a moment where Dante needs to relish and savor the ecstasy of finally burying himself in his long-awaited prize, fully-sheathed inside that addicting heat. And judging by the lack of remorse, V’s figured  _ this _ was the reason for the stalling: to take him by surprise while he was distracted by Vergil.

“Damned demon,” V rasps out, though only slightly irritated. If anything, he only has himself to blame. It wasn’t as if he laid out any rules against what Dante just pulled. Oh, and the way Vergil soothingly pets his hair is, well, very sweet while the scathing look he aims at Dante makes his heart clench. It’s his guilty pleasure, seeing a soft Vergil — though seeing him just as vicious gives V a special thrill as well. 

Dante, true to V’s words, huffs a breathy laugh and has the audacity to lightly smack V’s ass, not enough to sting but more as an attempt to tease. The same hand returns, though, to rub away the non-existent sting there, which makes V wonder if his nerves actually are shot; usually, such caresses are due if there’s the promise of a lingering whelp or one that would normally ring with pain and not just… a mild numbness. Maybe his brain hasn’t registered it yet, too busy still sorting out the cock in his ass from the cock just outside dick-sucking range. 

He should fix that.

V tests the waters by clenching around Dante, now that he’s past the initial shock and his body’s adjusted itself a little too quickly to the thick girth, and Dante responds in kind by grinding a slow circle inside. It’s not enough to throw V back into blindness again but enough to rack a shudder up his spine and throughout his shoulders, a languid wave of sparks washing over his skin. Dante doesn’t dare anything else, though, seems content enough to just enjoy his prize as it is, or maybe he’s still reeling from it all. He did sound pretty stricken.

But V gives him only a short respite, and he pushes himself back onto his elbows in determination. Just as quickly as Dante rammed into him, V withdraws himself now that Dante’s concentration has faltered, his grip unfocused, and stops nearly at the tip to slam himself back home in revenge for the bastard’s earlier highjinx. 

Dante garbles some curses at the unexpected attack, lurching forward to nearly press his chest against V’s back. “V, baby.  _ Babe,” _ he gasps out, like the breath’s been punched squarely out of him. 

If V’s own brazen act wasn’t enough, Dante’s incoherent murmurs do the trick. He squeezes his eyes tight, enough that he sees the blurry lights against the black backdrop of his eyelids, and his thighs quake just as his chest does, unable to contain the rasping moan that spills out of his mouth. But he’s not done — he’s far from done.

“By your leave, Dante,” V taunts, after collecting his breath, without even glancing back this time. Dante can work out the rest of it for himself; V doesn’t feel like doing the heavy lifting at the moment. He flicks his eyes back up to Vergil, flutters his lashes and smiles ever so innocently while he takes Vergil’s cock in hand and gives it a few perfunctory pumps, leaning his cheek into his closed fist. Some slick gets on his face, but that’s fine; he’ll be drenched in it soon enough. “Where were we, dear Vergil?”

“I believe I was enjoying your mouth, until Dante interrupted us.” Vergil brushes the backs of his fingers along V’s jaw, eyes honed in on the glistening mix of saliva and precum on plush lips. Vergil’s hardly done anything himself, but he’s the image of debauchery, sweat misting his unbreakable skin, mouth parted for his steaming breath to escape, and dark leaking cock throbbing incessantly in V’s hand. It takes V too long to notice that Vergil’s removed his vest, most likely shed when V was distracted by Dante just a moment prior, and he wishes he noticed earlier so he could have allowed himself those extra few seconds to admire the ripple of muscle that travels up and down that hardened chest and stomach. “My little brother doesn’t seem to be behaving himself, breaching our agreement. Shall I take you for myself, then, since our pact is null and void?”

Dante takes that as a cue to act fast, and he rocks his hips in an achingly deep roll that has V clawing Vergil’s thigh again. (V makes sure to keep his other grip steady lest he hurt Vergil, a concentration that deserves a gold-plated trophy, in V’s own opinion.) 

“Oh, bite me,” Dante grunts as he pushes himself into V again. 

“You’d like that,” Vergil shoots back, without taking his eyes off V and the way his mouth parts in a strained gasp, “So out of spite, no.”

It’s an honest truth. Vergil is a bruising menace with his teeth, likes to show off his claims with bruises and claws, a territorial instinct he never shook off, made only stronger during his time in the Underworld. And Dante is a peacock, flaunting anything and everything he packs, from the guns he totes to the glorious aftermath of a hot fuck, he’ll parade down the whole street butt-naked just to show off the scratches on his back to the teeth marks on his neck only if they didn’t heal as fast as they do. 

V senses the onset of another one of their pointless bickerings, which are all spurred on just because both brothers need to get the last word in; he knows if left to their own devices, he’ll end up stuck in the middle of their endless loop, and considering it’s impossible for him to tap out and scurry away, he needs to shut both of them up before the point of no return. 

Because already Dante’s pace has been reduced to steady shallow thrusts, mind not focused on where V believes it should be and instead on coming up with sarcastic quips to get a rile out of Vergil, each slide missing that sweet spot that  _ should _ have been abused right about now. Vergil’s hand isn’t as firm as it should be, just resting on the crown of V’s hair and not even scratching or holding, just sitting there, infuriatingly, like it’s not supposed to be holding him down to fuck his cock into V’s mouth.

_ ‘Never seek to tell thy love,’ _ he thinks, sighing inwardly and rolling his eyes. _ ‘Love that never told can be, for the gentle wind doth move silently, invisibly.’  _ It doesn’t quite work considering the different contexts, but the idea sort of stands. 

V spreads his knees apart slightly, giving him some leverage for what he’s about to call ‘Dante’s Rude Awakening’ and moistens his lips for ‘Stop Bullying Your Baby Brother, Vergil.’ He tries to ready himself, despite knowing what’s to come and that it’s futile, that no matter how many times he’s done this song and dance he’ll end up being a hot mess of ragged moans and sizzled nerves. But does it matter? That’s just exactly the euphoria he’s been chasing after, isn’t it? What they all want.

He adjusts his angle a bit, working out half-baked math in his head as he guesses how high he needs to lift his hips up to get Dante’s aim just right, and bows his head over Vergil’s cock, no less rigid in his hand and still as eager thankfully. He takes a breath.

V cracks the metaphorical whip on them. 

In one swift, precise killing blow V slams himself back to meet Dante’s weak thrust just as he swallows Vergil down in its entirety where the head of his cock meets the back of his throat. He  _ almost _ chokes — but doesn’t, prepared for it this time unlike earlier — and through sheer willpower alone he keeps on his brutal attack, taking Dante from behind and Vergil in front. But it doesn’t stop the keen lodged in his chest, his spine alighting and nerves in a frenzy, his calculations delivering true to his prostate, and he knows Vergil can feel the reverberations judging by the startled moan and the tight fist in his hair. V preens inside, feels the feathers of his pride spread and showboat to no one but himself, chases after the flare of pain and ecstasy. 

Because the reaction is  _ exquisite. _

Dante has his fingers buried into the soft flesh of his hips, nails on the verge of claws and breaking skin there, his entire torso lurching forward to meet his sweltering forehead against V’s own flushed skin, settling in between the valley of his shoulders and on the delicate ribbing of his spine. His breath feels like evaporating steam, scalding where it drifts, and V only wishes he could have a bird’s eye view of Dante draped over and panting like a mad dog in rut with a tight, “ _ HolyshitV. _ ”

But alas, he’ll make do with Vergil. Who's stuck in the same precarious situation, doubled over and fisting both his hands into V's hair, trapping V in an unrelenting grip, yet can't choose between pushing or pulling away. V's buried himself deep, nose tickled by the spattering of silver hair, and pretty much unable to breathe with Vergil's dick crammed down so far down his throat, but he pushes past the blurry tears that gather at the corner of his eyes because he sure as shit isn't going to pass up this opportunity of seeing Vergil so unfettered and vulnerable. 

It's a little cute, that flush of red that's painted on Vergil's chest, neck, and polished cheeks, that they share that trait. But it's arousing as all hell to hear the broken rasp he draws from Vergil with each flick of his tongue and his hollowed cheeks, how Vergil has his eyes shut tight to try and reign in some of that stately dignity back. V can't move much, his head anyway, with the hold on his hair keeping him in place, basically turning him into a cocksleeve at this point. He'll need to breathe eventually, the thin shallow wisps of air not enough to keep his lungs from protesting, but until he meets his limit he'll be content to settle for such. He can still work his tongue around, still moan around the thickness in his throat for Vergil to feel, still has his hands to massage the rest of him down. Still plenty of weapons to break Vergil. 

But Dante? Dante's easy, already considered conquered and demolished. He's recovered — sort of, in the way that matters anyway — and has already started on a brutal rhythm now, chest still pressed against back. Dante slides his tongue along V's neck, before it's replaced by teeth to place a claim there. Which, V thinks hazily, is useless now because every demon and monster this side of town already knows who he belongs to, considering he absolutely reeks of their scent —  _ has been,  _ as it should be. He doesn't linger on that thought long though, not with the unrelenting force Dante's pushing into him, and anything coherent he manages just gets smashed like, well, his ass. 

Every pounding goes straight to his cock, like lightning strikes that pierce into his system to spread throughout each synapse before coalescing into a terrible sweet storm in his very core. He could let loose, just like this, let Dante and Vergil take the reigns and he’d reach heaven in no time, but it’s a race he has no intention of winning. He’ll only find victory in his loss, when he crosses that finish line only after they do. A good thing, all things considered, that he has plenty of experience and patience when it comes to holding himself together until the bitter end; a crumbling body didn’t stop him back then, and he sure as hell isn’t going to let his body fail him now.

Sure there’s no threat to life on earth and the preservation of humanity like back then, but the lack of doom and dread still doesn’t make his situation any easier. He’s getting dizzy from the heady scent of sex alone — or maybe it’s from the lack of oxygen thanks to Vergil’s cock jammed in his mouth, that’s entirely probable — and whatever wisp of a breath he manages to gasp is knocked cleanly out with each savage thrust of Dante’s hips. And Dante is getting more desperate, more erratic, more  _ deep _ , back straightened again to get the right leverage he needs. He drives himself all the way to the root and hastily snaps himself out until the flared head catches on V’s rim, crashing back in with all the force of a bullet just to wreck V all over again, drawing muffled moans and rumbling shudders that rack V’s entire body. Each motion shoves him a few inches forward into Vergil, but Dante is quick to jerk him back again to meet his thrusts. 

Essentially, not only is Dante fucking into V with all the reckless abandon of a bull, but he’s also  _ making _ V throatfuck Vergil simultaneously. The idea alone is enough to turn V’s brain into mush, and his legs are already quivering with how they feel like jelly underneath him; he’s only managing to remain upright because Dante’s literally doing the heavy lifting now, keeping him in place or wrenching him back with the devastating hold that reaches bone-deep in his hips. 

He’s not too far gone to ignore the alarm in his lungs though. He taps, twice, on Vergil’s thigh and the vice grip in his hair immediately vanishes. V’s burning in far too many places, from north to south and east to west, but he can’t ignore the heaving in his chest now, no matter how much he wishes he could just keep Vergil in his mouth. Desperate as he is for a proper breath, he’s still careful to avoid scraping with his teeth as he pulls off, ready to inhale a deep lungful of sweet, fresh (sex-filled) air. 

But it turns out he still has enough oxygen in him, when he realizes just how raw his throat is when Dante rips a sharp wail out of him by abruptly rocking in with enough force to shove V farther into Vergil’s lap. V barely has enough time to choke in a strained breath before the next wave comes, crashing into him like a tsunami and sweeping him off whatever broken foothold he still had, and he feels delirium dancing around the edges of his consciousness, fueled by the lack of oxygen in his brain and that Dante’s pretty much just fucking up the rest of his senses. 

There’s a moment where he’s simply overloaded, composure and mind fried from how hot his blood boils, to the point where he just throws in the towel and lets Dante do fuck-all he wants. He can’t even give Vergil a proper blowjob anymore, can’t even lift his head up from Vergil’s thigh and all he _ can _ do is uselessly mouth at the cock while broken moans and stuttered breaths just keep spilling from his lips. 

“That’s it, baby,” Dante groans with a body-aching thrust. He slows there, basks in the velvety embrace to grind into V’s tender spot, giving them both a time for reprieve, for V to drag his brain back from sex limbo. 

V feels Dante move, hands roaming over his hips and weight shifting slightly as he leans close, breath so scorching he thinks of Dante in his glorious and blazing demon form.

“Close,” Dante whispers like it’s a scandalous secret. “I‘m so close, V. Tell me I can come inside, baby, you  _ gotta _ let me.”

It’s lacking the pretty-please-with-a-cherry-on-top, but the absolute want for desperate release in his tight voice does it for V. He can’t deny Dante when he asks in such a lovely plea; even if the words aren’t there, the tone speaks volumes. He won’t, but.

But.

“Beg, Dante.” 

V can’t see his face, but he can practically taste the distress that must twist in Dante’s chest. 

“ _ Please.” _ It comes in a panic, rushed and out of breath. “Fuck, V baby, please. I’ll die, I swear I will. You look so good, feel so good — so perfect, you can’t take this away from me. I’ll cry if you do, V. You wanna see me cry?” 

V manages a laugh out of it, despite how deep Dante digs his fingers, how hot every inch of his skin is it just might melt off. It’s a weak laugh, low and breathy, but it’s a good honest one. He does genuinely want to see Dante cry. One day but not today, and he supposes he now knows one method to bring that about. 

“Good boy.” V grants him this one mercy, but the way he brutally clenches around Dante’s dick is anything but. “Go on then, have your reward.”

Dante trembles — it reverberates in his whole body, and V can feel it in his fingers and in the non-existent space between their intertwined bodies — from the simple praise and from his promised release. He twists his hips, and V can almost swear he feels pulses of power ramming into him with each impact, sending spirals of lights and stars around his vision. 

Like they’re framing a portrait around Vergil’s cock, still thick and straining and woefully out of V’s mouth.  _ ‘Poor thing,’ _ V manages to think to himself,  _ ‘I’ve neglected you, haven’t I?’ _ And dearest Vergil hasn’t made a peep of protest through it all. V immediately fixes it by swiping his tongue over the head, taking the shaft in his hand and stroking from root to glans. He begins to take Vergil into his mouth again when he strokes downward, his lips chasing after his hand as they both go south; he kisses his fist in sloppy succession in the middle, loathed as he is to leave any inch of it bare for more than he has to. 

Vergil responds in kind with an inebriating groan, and V snaps his eyes upward in greed, unwilling to miss the sights and sounds he wrenches out of him. 

But when Vergil flutters his eyes closed, lips twisted back in strain and jaw set tight as he fights back the tell-tale signs of his pending orgasm, V releases him from his mouth and gives a firm squeeze. “Eyes open,” V orders through his staggered gasps, tone made far less stern due to Dante’s frantic hips, “I’d —  _ mmph —  _ rather see…  _ Ah, _ see when you come.”

Vergil knits his brows together, beads of sweat rolling down his temple, and grits his teeth; looking like that, it’s difficult to tell if that’s an expression of displeasure or determination. He mutters something under his breath, but V can’t catch it — especially not with Dante’s obscene noises back there, and the constant bed creaking. But Vergil keeps his eyes open, boring a hole into V’s face as he keeps his lashes from falling close, a task that seems just as strenuous as keeping his building pleasure from peaking. 

From there, it’s short but turbulent. V likes to think of himself as a man of multi-tasking. A lifetime ago, he had commanded all three familiars, guided their strikes, maneuvered them both offensively and defensively, recalling them according to strategy all while keeping himself out of harm’s way to deliver the killing strikes. This isn’t a battlefield now, but Dante and Vergil are still ferocious demons, and the blows they deal him require that same concentration as then. 

Dante keeps pushing him to the precarious edge, inching him closer and closer to the void below with each feral grunt and wild surge that makes his toes curl and cock leak, and V desperately has to fight back the unbridled tightness that thrashes within its confines. It’s only made more difficult with Vergil in his mouth, and V keeps slipping into the mind-numbing fog of pleasure when he needs his lousy brain cells to at least keep up with his hands and tongue, to keep them moving in tandem to bring Vergil to his own completion as well. He keeps telling himself to keep at it, to keep his eyes open and honed on Vergil’s debased expression; but his own mind’s voice is muted by the sounds of skin slapping, of Dante’s garbled utterances of begs and soon-to-be-release, of Vergil’s hisses and terse warnings of his impending unraveling. 

The only warning he gets is a sharp,  _ “V—” _ before the blazing torrent slams into him, filling every crevice and coating his walls with Dante’s lust. He feels Dante tremble and writhe, as he rides out the convulsions, and V milks him for all that he has, clenching hard around him and greedily taking every sound, shiver, and drop, even if it overflows and races down his bruised-up thighs. 

He finds his own release in that, and he finally allows himself to come apart in a soundless, breathless quake, his spend coating his stomach and staining his corset and the bedsheets below, some intermingling with Dante’s seed. It’s a white hot explosion in the back of his eyes, that temporarily drowns out his vision and rings a shrill noise in his ears; he sees novas and stardust and planetary divisions in the span of his orgasm, earth-shattering eruptions that create fissures up and down his nerves. 

Whatever sound that actually does form, does not make it past his throat; he takes Vergil deep once more, and his silent keens wrap around the cock, reverberating and constricting and caressing, until bitter gratification burns its way down and overflows on his tongue. And Vergil grunts out — almost  _ roars _ — V’s name in the most sonorous way imaginable, the way V loves it best, exposed and primal and unhinged all in one little syllable. V thinks and wishes he could come again just from that, but alas, his human limits draw the line there. 

He rides out the shockwaves, all three of them — his, Dante’s, Vergil’s — and tries not to bliss out on the luxury of being filled to the brim and stuffed full with both of them. True to Dante’s prior declaration, he’ll be feeling them for  _ days _ , their flavors and fullness carved into his body until they fade within time. And when that happens, he’ll be sure to seek them out again, to tattoo their names and their scents where they belong, if they don't get to him first. 

V gives them time to gather themselves. For Dante to soften and slip out with the rest of the mess he’s made, then teeter off to the side and crumble into a useless, boneless pile. For Vergil’s breath to slow and the strength in his hands to weaken, for that burning flame in his eyes to smother into a warm ember instead. 

He pulls away from Vergil, licks his swollen lips and worries a hand over his jaw, testing the soreness there and finding it manageable; to rediscover his voice, though, will take a moment longer, so he doesn’t even bother with that. He also ignores the aching need for a hot bath, choosing to roll over to his side and pillow his head on Vergil’s thigh to see Dante’s sexed-out face instead. 

Eventually, Dante cracks open an eye, a tired lop-sided grin splitting across his face, and V can’t resist the urge to swipe away at the stray bangs that obscure his content eyes, satisfied and happy and oh-so loving. Before V can take back his hand, Dante wraps a firm but gentle hold around it, bringing the fingers to his lips to press a light kiss across thin knuckles. “Not gonna lie, V, that was hella sexy.”

“Insinuating that I’m usually not?” V manages to not wince at the rasp in his voice and the gritty sensation along his throat. 

“You know what I mean. Don’t… what’s that word you like again? Obfuscate? ‘Cause that definitely ain’t sexy.”

“Careful, little brother,” Vergil slides in, waking from his own drowsy mind, “Don’t hurt your brain with big words.”

Dante sticks his tongue out.

V laughs, short and breathy, and idly scratches the top of Vergil’s knee, barely listening to the drone of brotherly banter. He could almost fall asleep like this, surrounded by their warmth and living voices, if not for the drying, sticky mess down south. And the corset’s starting to itch at him again, now that his senses are no longer drowned out by getting his nerves brutally fucked. A shame that things weren’t more comfortable, but it’s all a small price to pay; he’s not done with them just yet. 

“It’s almost charming,” V interrupts, smoothly cutting in between them, “that you assume we’re finished.” He reaches out and cups the side of Dante’s cheek, bringing a thumb to gently tug at his bottom lip. 

Dante sucks in a shuddering breath, a sign that his interest is already piqued despite the rousing time they just had. “Yeah?” His eyes flick up to Vergil, a silent question in his eyes, wondering if his brother is hiding something as well. Vergil merely shrugs, an answer in of itself.

V smiles, faint and cryptic, and simply rolls over onto his back again to spare a glance at Vergil, but he speaks to no one in particular, “You’ve had your appetizer and main course in bed. Time for dessert in the bath, I’d say.” He taps into his last reserves of strength and pries himself out of Vergil’s lap and off the bed, feels the way Dante’s release trickle down his legs, the heavy gaze of predators bearing down upon him again. 

He makes it a few steps before he turns on his heel to face them, his hands playing with the lacing hold his corset together, and slowly tugs on one of the strings, minutely loosening the tie that keeps it all so prettily wrapped. 

“And you’ve yet to unwrap your present, Dante, after I took such great pains to prepare it for you. I’m disappointed.” He says it with a touch of drama, to prove no real disappointment was truly had. 

“Shit, you’re right.” Dante admits with not an ounce of guilt, only triumph and glee. There's something dangerous in his smile, but V fears nothing when he's practically inviting it. “I should do something about that.”

“Mm, you should.” V runs his finger down the back of his thigh, swiping at a trail of cooling cum there. He brings his hand before him, testing the tackiness of it between his index and thumb, looking down upon it with disinterest. “Perhaps you could start with that mouth of yours, make good on your words.” He glances at Dante with a crooked smile. “You did say you’d eat me right up, and there’s a bit of cleaning to do, Dante” — then, directing his attention to Vergil — “unless brother dearest would prefer the honors.”

Something like greed, like possessiveness, flares in both of them, and both Dante and Vergil snap their gazes on each other, already sizing one another up for who will get what. 

He doesn’t stick around long enough to see who the winner ends up being, only tosses a laugh into the air before he retreats into the adjoining bathroom. They’ll join him soon enough, whether on their own volition or by his beckoning. Because if anyone’s the victor around here, that would be V. 

**Author's Note:**

> pls quench my thirst for these three


End file.
